


Apropos of Nothing

by entanglednow



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-18
Updated: 2008-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick irritated and in pain was a more or less predictable creature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apropos of Nothing

Stephen goes straight to Nick's when he's washed the last of the dinosaur carcass off of his hands. The last time he'd seen him he'd been under the prodding of one of the few doctors that were allowed to know exactly what manner of injuries they were in danger of ending up with.

Nick irritated and in pain was a more or less predictable creature.

And he'd never asked for his spare key back.

Stephen finds him on the couch, sprawled in a position that looks carefully comfortable. He's still wearing the same t-shirt, sleeve and shoulder ripped open, bloodstain now dry and vaguely gruesome looking. The bandage is shiny white and still new looking. Stephen knows himself that it's more trouble to put new clothes on than it's worth for the first day. Mind you the second day is even worse.

Nick looks up when Stephen shifts in the doorway but doesn't move.

"I see you escaped," Stephen says, because really the observation is true.

"He wanted me to stay overnight. I pointed out that I have a puncture wound in my shoulder and not a concussion."

"How is it?" Stephen asks, because Nick isn't exactly moving, _at all_.

"They gave me something," Nick tells him in an ever so slightly offended tone of voice, that Stephen has learned to associate with anything that other people feel is in his best interests.

"Is it good?" He can't help but ask.

Nick grunts.

"My shoulder feels very hot, and a little like it's vibrating, but it doesn't actually hurt."

"What about when you move?"

"I haven't tried that yet," Nick admits. "Last time was horrendously unpleasant."

Stephen throws him a look that's amused, and then very carefully settles himself on the sofa next to him. He tosses the folders he's carrying on the low table, then gestures at it with his head.

"The report's finished if you want to read it."

Nick scowls at the table, then rolls his eyes at him.

"Now you've throw it a mile away," Nick points out, which makes Stephen snort laughter.

"Two feet at best."

Nick scowls at him, put a hand down to brace himself.

"No, wait," Stephen leans over, picks it up himself.

When he shifts round again a hand catches his jaw, turns it, and Nick's kissing him. One hard press of mouth, fingers sliding round to grasp the back of his neck. It's not tentative or questioning, Nick kisses him like he knows he can, like he knows Stephen won't say no. But Nick's not supposed to know that. Stephen has made him not knowing that into an art form.

There's a drag of fingers through his hair and he makes a noise, something soft and incriminating into Nick's mouth. He forces himself to pull away, to breathe, _to think_.

"We don't do this," Stephen says in a soft voice, and it's surprised, it's impossibly confused, and Nick's mouth is still so close.

"Why not?" Nick says quietly. "Why don't we do this Stephen?"

Stephen can't think of a single reason, not one. Because god they've hovered on the edge of this for fucking years and never once looked over, never once done something about it. Nick's fingers catch in his hair and tug pointedly. Stephen goes willingly, and their second kiss is more complicated, slower, deeper. The angle they're twisted together is awkward, but Stephen can't bring himself to pull away. His hand searches for somewhere to rest and finally settles on Nick's stomach. Which is perhaps a mistake, he's warm through the thin material of his t-shirt and it makes everything real suddenly.

Nick's hand catches his wrist, puts gentle but pointed pressure on it. His own hand smoothes down over the edge of Nick's t-shirt, past the slash where the material has slid up. His thumb drags over bare skin and he has to pull away from Nick's mouth to inhale, and it doesn't feel like enough. Nick watches his mouth and doesn't say a word. Stephen doesn't have a choice about leaning in again.

Then his fingertips catch on the waistband of Nick's sweats and Stephen is shaken all the way back out of the kiss, swallowing in one shaky reflex. Because _that_ is not kissing, that is way past kissing. And though it pains Stephen, _really fucking pains him_ , to admit it. Nick isn't usually this demonstrative. Which brings with it the horrible creeping realisation that this could very well be a mistake.

"Nick exactly how much medication are you on?"

"I am not under the influence of painkillers," Nick grumbles.

"You've never seemed very inclined to kiss me before."

"Then you're completely blind," Nick snarls, before his teeth snap together and he makes a quiet, annoyed noise that's mostly pain and carefully relaxes.

There's a strange, taut silence before Nick takes a breath, then another. The quick look he throws Stephen is guilty, and then he just looks tired.

"Maybe we don't do this," he says finally, flatly. His hand loosens round Stephen's wrist, leaves it on its own in a place Stephen really isn't sure of at all, and Stephen can't help himself, he just can't.

"I want to touch you," he admits, and it doesn't sound anything near as painful to say as it feels.

"Then do it," Nick says and he makes it sound easy, and Stephen wants to protest that it's not.

"Nick -" It's all he manages before Nick is kissing him again, as deep as their strange angle and his injured shoulder will allow. His hand tightens on Stephen's wrist, pushes until his fingers catch against, then slide under the waistband of his sweats, and Stephen makes a noise into his mouth, something quick and encouraging because yes, this is what he wants.

This is what they do, Nick makes outrageous demands and Stephen does his best to meet them.

He dips his fingers into Nick's boxers himself, and Nick's fingers flex helplessly once round his wrist and then let go, rising to find Stephen's hair again, twisting his head in a way that's impossible and painful but Stephen manages it anyway.

His hand slides down, all the way down. Fingers dragging against the hard line of Nick's cock. He folds them round it and Nick exhales sharply against the edge of his jaw, groans something lost and too tangled up to understand.

Stephen is stunned, and aroused, and _terrified_.

That Nick will tell him he didn't protest enough, that he didn't question enough. But Nick's hips shift, cock sliding through Stephen's grip, and he can't stop. Because he's stupid and reckless and he wants this, he's wanted this for _years_. But they don't do this, they don't just do things like this with no warning and no questions.

The shiver of uncertainty, of urgency makes it better, makes it illicit and Stephen's so hard inside his jeans that he's groaning on every breath, hand nothing like graceful, it's quick and greedy, all ragged want and desperate to please. He thinks if Nick gave any indication, a tug on his hair, a word, any sort of encouragement at all Stephen would drag material over his hips and replace his hand with his mouth, which is too much, far too much.

But Nick has always been able to read him too well, and he groans against his mouth like he knows what he's thinking, like he _knows_ , and Stephen wants to touch himself so badly, but he needs both his hands, and he must be a masochist because he doesn't want it to stop.

This is the one thing they've never done, they're awkward and out of sync, pushing too hard, greedy and careless. But it seems to make no difference at all.

Nick's hand drops from his hair to his forearm, fingers digging into his skin, and they're no longer kissing just breathing into each other's mouths when Nick chokes on a sound, pushes into Stephen's hand.

Oh god.

There's a drag of stubble across the edge of his face, breath in his ear and Stephen bites back his name and settles for a broken exhale instead.

Nick's forehead knocks against his own, heavy and warm.

It stays there for a long moment, even after Nick opens his eyes again, and Stephen thinks it's the most naked look they've ever shared. Eventually Nick's head shifts away and Stephen reluctantly slides his hand free and Nick's stomach is warm, moving under his fingers on every breath. He dares to leave it there when Nick doesn't protest. Nick watches him out of the corner of his eye and Stephen doesn't have the first idea what he's thinking. Until he shifts fractionally against the back of the couch, twists his free hand at a strange angle and pops the button on Stephen's jeans. But when he tries to turn sideways Stephen stops him.

"Stop moving," Stephen says quietly.

"And exactly what kind of bastard does that make me?" Nick asks carefully.

"One with stitches in your shoulder," Stephen points out. "I shouldn't have even done that."

"But you did," Nick says, and damn him if there's absolutely no inflection under the words.

"I did," Stephen counters equally flatly.

They look at each other, then Stephen very carefully leans over and scoops the report off of the floor.

When he straightens Nick catches his wrist, holds it until he's sure he has Stephen's full attention.

"This is something we do," Nick says quietly, but there's a flavour of question behind it that Stephen isn't sure whether he imagines or not. Stephen's exhale isn't quite as calm as he wants it to be.

"Yes," he manages.


End file.
